


hopeless hearts just passing through

by nightingiall



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, High School Teacher AU, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut, drama teacher!harry, english teacher!niall, lilo if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5082691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightingiall/pseuds/nightingiall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a story about Shakespearean plays, an unlikely pair of high school teachers, a fake date to a real wedding, and the magic of romance (for a hopeless romantic).</p>
            </blockquote>





	hopeless hearts just passing through

**Author's Note:**

> Niall grunts out what sounds like it was meant to be a laugh, his head lolling backwards to rest on the back of the booth, and Harry wishes he weren’t so damn beautiful in the dim lighting of the pub, wishes that he didn’t have the immense urge to kiss Niall’s soft, peachy lips right then and there. He looks tired, but in the serene way, the comfortable and lovely and endearing way. “The nuances of love,” he says lowly, and Harry can hear from the grogginess his voice has let out that he probably wants to go to sleep.
> 
> Harry frowns at that. He doesn’t think love is a bad thing like Niall’s just put it out to be. Because the truth is, Harry is really in love with the idea of love. There’s something magical about the emotions that come with being in a relationships and the words two hearts seem to exchange with each other when the physical mouths aren’t moving. Something enchanting about feeling so strongly about someone else that you forget about yourself sometimes. He can’t imagine someone else not feeling the same way. “What’s love ever done to you?” Harry finds himself asking.
> 
> Niall blinks at him, his expression turning blank. “I just,” he sighs and tries to stall by taking a sip of his refilled drink. “I just don’t get it, y’know? Like. I just feel like the whole idea of love is so overhyped.”
> 
> Liam and Louis have fucked off to god knows where so Harry thinks it’s safe to scoot closer. “I think,” Harry gets out, voice low and almost sultry, “that you haven’t given love a chance yet.”

Summer’s transition into autumn is always a strange one, Harry thinks as he tugs his warm jumper up and over his head with a huff. He’s been hauling boxes from the truck downstairs up to his new fifth floor flat throughout the course of what started as a morning with a crisp but biting breeze to a humid and muggy afternoon that has sticky droplets of sweat rolling down the back of his neck.

So far, he’s managed to get all of his belongings into the flat with no problem, boxes upon boxes now piled up in his new living room, and the only thing left to do is what Harry’s been dreading all along—unpacking. In theory, the whole ordeal shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours, but Harry being Harry still finds ways to extend that period of time by knocking over his carefully packed boxes and sending clumps of dust bunnies flying up in the air.

He decides on setting up his bedroom first, dragging the boxes marked ‘ _bed_ ’ into the biggest of the two rooms. The whole thing is a bit mindless, cutting open boxes, organizing items in piles only to put them all together in the end. He starts to regret his decision of starting life afresh when another hour goes by and instead of tidying up the space that he’ll soon call his bedroom, he’s only managed to make more of a mess.

It’s not until another hour goes by that the room is beginning to look a bit neater. His clothes are either all folded and put into drawers, or placed on hangers and hung in the built in closet at the corner of the room. He’s managed to scavenge for his clean bedsheets to spread on his bed, but he doesn’t see the point in fixing it up all nice since he plans on crashing a little earlier than usual. Beyond the extreme exhaustion the day has brought on, though, is a bit of excitement of what the coming days might bring. He’s looking forward to starting his independent life with the new teaching job he’s managed to snag at the last second, and he can’t stop thanking his lucky stars for all he’s been able to accomplish in the past few weeks—a degree, a new flat, a job; how can he complain, really?

He makes a mental reminder to himself that he needs to set an alarm for tomorrow morning to get ready for his first unofficial day on the job. The teaching gig is what motivated him to get a place in central London in the first place. He’d sort of stumbled upon the place by accident, really, but the pay was great for a first year teacher and the campus was breathtaking, so he isn’t about to gather up any type of bad karma that’ll ruin the experience for him. He’s actually pretty excited. He’s young enough to be able to connect with the teenage population but wise enough to be able to lay down the law, or at least that’s what he wants to think.

No one had ever seen him as the drama type, and truth be told, neither had Harry, but after binge watching too romantic comedies when he was supposed to be working on his GPA in uni and impulsively signing up for a drama class because he needed a few more elective credits, something about the art of acting stuck with him, and passing on that art was suddenly something he wanted to do.

And it isn’t just the acting that draws him, but it’s the stories that are portrayed as well. He loves the buildup of emotion and range of intense feeling, lives for the romance and the cheesy clichés.

Because Harry is in love with the idea of love, even if love hasn’t done much for him.

Harry’s close to dozing off on his sweet-smelling sheets when an idle thought crosses his mind—he should probably put his curtains up. The last thing he wants is to fall asleep and then wake up with the morning rays of the sun threatening to blind him.

Once again, the job is a bit mindless, unfolding the curtains, stringing them onto the rod. But, somehow, Harry still finds himself stumbling into the glass at the sight outside his window. Running right past the park across the street is a boy wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts. The rays of the sun streak his hair in such a way that certain strands of his thick, blond hair are highlighted, the light bouncing from them like a halo. Sweat glistens along the skin of his collarbones, and even from his spot by the window, Harry can see the way the scarlet flush of exertion spreads down the boy’s sternum and up the thick column of his neck.  

As Harry watches the boy continue his run, his fingers loosen around the rod that he’d attached his curtains to, the metal falling to the floor with a loud clamor but the sound doesn’t register in Harry’s brain.

He leans against the window frame with an intrigued sort of smile curling along his lips, barely catching the silhouette of the boy turning the corner.

Harry doesn’t put up his curtains that day, but when he regrets that decision in the morning like he knew he would, he lets himself go with the excuse that he was simply too tired to get up to it the night before.

As he finishes the job, he tries not to wonder whether he’ll see the blond-haired boy run past the park across the street again.

He tries not to think about the fact that when it hits a certain point in the afternoon again, he does.

*

Harry hates _Romeo and Juliet_.

He realizes that this contradicts his image of the lad who can’t get enough of anything remotely romantic, but that’s the thing. _Romeo and Juliet_ isn’t romantic, it’s a goddamn tragedy—and an awful one at that. The worst part of it all is that it’s the first play they’ve given him to assign to his students and he can’t even protest the damn thing because it’s the first thing that’s in the curriculum.

He pouts all throughout his walk home. The first day of school is exactly a week from now and he needs to prepare some semblance of lesson plans for the month of September with this play that he doesn’t exactly like sitting at the top of the list. As he passes by a quaint little café, his thoughts on _Romeo and Juliet_ disappear, a sudden craving for a piping hot cuppa replacing it.

Sweetz smells like coffee and cinnamon and comfort, just like Harry would expect from a café, and before he knows it, he’s sliding into a booth by the window with his warm beverage sitting on the table in front of him, copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ cracked open to the first page as he begins to take notes in the margins for what he might want to go over with his students.

Teaching high school students isn’t easy—or at least Harry doesn’t expect it to be—and teaching them freakin’ _Shakespeare_ only makes him more nervous for his official first day. By the time he’s gotten through with his drink, he’s only managed to flip through a couple pages of the text with only a bit of understanding of the words.

“If you’re looking for romance, that’s a terrible choice of book, mate,” comes a voice from above him just as Harry’s taking one last sip of his cuppa. Harry nearly chokes when he looks up only to see a familiar head of blond hair. He almost can’t believe his eyes when the boy takes a seat right in front of him because this guy is like sex on legs and he’s _sitting with him_ , it’s almost unreal. “Hi, ‘m Niall,” he says, extending his hand in greeting, but Harry can’t really focus on what’s happening because his eyes are this _crazy_ shade of blue and Harry’s almost _convinced_ that there’s no way that’s a natural color, “and this is actually me usual table so I hope you don’t mind me crashing your little reading sesh.”

“I’m Harry,” he manages through a nervous chuckle, shaking Niall’s hand before withdrawing a beat too soon. “I’m sorry I didn’t know—I’m a bit new here,” he tries to explain, but then Niall is smiling and it’s so bright bright bright that Harry’s is starting to wonder if anything about this boy seems natural because he’s unreal.

“S’alright, mate. I’m just teasing.” Harry doesn’t know how it’s possible for someone to radiate light like Niall does. He’s oozing happiness and comfort, even with beads of sweat dotting his hairline. Harry can’t shake the feeling that something about this lad is familiar—there’s something about the way his bright blue eyes glimmer that has him chasing for a memory that he can associate Niall with, but before he can dwell too much on it, Niall is talking again. “So you’re not from around here then?”

Harry shakes his head. “I moved here because of a job offer. Wanted to work someplace away from home for a bit. Learn to be independent and all that.” He finds himself pushing his empty drink container to the side and shuffling his notes together into a neat pile. “I’m actually from Cheshire,” he says, wondering if that’s giving away too much information to someone who might just be talking to him because he wants him to get the hell away from his table.

Niall snorts before taking a sip of what Harry presumes to be a smoothie, the pastel orange drink whipped to perfection. He tries not to look at the way Niall’s pretty, peachy lips wrap around the straw, doesn’t know why he can’t help but check this bloke out. “Figures why you look so posh,” Niall jokes, and Harry can’t help the chuckle that bubbles from his lips.

“Don’t think Cheshire has anything to do with that,” Harry retorts playfully. “I think it’s the uptight London air getting to me.”

At that, Niall laughs, and Harry feels a strange surge of satisfaction zip through his veins. “You’re a funny one, mate. Harry, was it?” he asks with an endearing tilt of his head and Harry nods. Niall shakes his head with a smile and then his eyes are catching on Harry’s current crisis. “So tell me, Harry, why are you willfully reading this godawful book in a café?”

“Trust me, it’s not willingly.” Harry frowns at the cover of _Romeo and Juliet_ , which is actually just a simple rose on a pitch black background. “I’m actually a drama teacher and this play is the first thing in the curriculum this year.”

“Ahh.” Niall smiles and Harry really wishes he would stop because it makes his insides go all crazy. “The nuances of teaching. I get it.”

“You’re a teacher too?” Harry asks for lack of a better thing to say. He should actually probably get going if the slow melt of the sun over the horizon is any indication, but Niall has this magnetic pull to him that Harry can’t resist.

“Yep,” Niall replies, popping the p, and the sound is a bit loud because his lips are damp from his smoothie, and, no, Harry was not paying attention to his lips. “I’m more of an English man, though.”

They manage to hold a conversation for a few more moments before Harry’s phone is buzzing with a reminder that he needs to complete the rest of his lesson plans. Niall lets him go with a “Hope to see you around, Harry,” pairing his comment with a wave, and Harry returns the sentiment by joking that maybe they can meet again over a proper drink, pointing at Niall’s smoothie with a fake gag. Niall looks affronted but his expression is quickly replaced by a laugh, and Harry really regrets having to leave.

It’s only when he’s across the street and something in him tells him to turn back in hopes of catching a glimpse of Niall through the window that he sees it, the rays of the slowly setting sun catching on his blond tips and adding a glow to his whole being. Harry’s breath hitches in his throat.

Niall is the boy who runs past the park across the street from his bedroom window every afternoon.

*

Harry is nervous.

His first day as the new drama teacher at Kingsbury has him biting on his nails.

On the walk from his car to the teacher’s entrance, he’s managed to stop three times just to check on his hair in other car windows. He knows he really has no reason to be this tense, but there’s still that underlying pressure of wanting to have an absolute perfect first day that’s eating at him. A million and one questions are buzzing through his head: _What if they don’t like me? What if I’m one of those really shitty teachers? What if I have an embarrassing moment like my zipper being undone in front of the whole class?_

Well. Needless to say, he’s panicking.

He adjusts his messenger bag on his shoulder and heads straight for the toilets as soon as he enters the building. One of the secretaries had given him a tour the other day—but he’d arrived a bit too early so he wasn’t able to meet any other teachers—so he finds the loo quite easily. He thinks he’ll be able to calm down if he was able to splash some cold water on his face.

What he finds in the restroom, however, surprises him.

“Niall?” Harry gets out, his voice raising an octave in wonder. Niall’s standing in front of a stall that’s littered with graffiti with a blue sharpie in his hand—somehow the first thing that registers in Harry’s brain is that Niall’s a leftie—and he looks up at Harry not looking the least bit surprised or guilty because Harry’d just caught him in the act of vandalism. “What are you doing?”

Niall just frowns in disappointment. “Can you believe these kids? High school students and they can’t even differentiate between _your_ and _you’re_.” He goes back to correcting the offending misspelling, not even acknowledging the fact that he and Harry are actually teachers in the same school. “Terrible,” he mutters under his breath.

Somehow, Harry forgets all about his nerves and why he’d even come to the loo in the first place because Niall’s smiling at him and strolling towards him to give him one of those bro-shakes.

“Harry, mate! Didn’t expect to find you here,” Niall says, and that’s when Harry realizes that Niall’s one of those people who has the uncanny ability to make you feel like you’ve known them forever, when in reality, you’re not even _friends_.

Harry would very much like to be Niall’s friend.

“You realize you just contributed to toilet vandalism, right,” Harry manages to get out, praying to whatever force in the universe that his bantering approach will earn him brownie points in Niall’s book or something.

Niall, bless his soul, laughs like Harry’s just told the funniest joke he’s ever heard, eyes clenched shut as he throws his head back and cackles with the sound reverberating from his gut. “Really didn’t expect to see you here, mate,” Niall sputters out through his chuckles, and it’s only when Harry finds himself laughing along with him that he realizes that Niall’s just repeated himself. “You look like you’re ready to piss yourself, to be honest.”

Harry huffs out a chuckle. “You have no idea, mate, I’m so _nervous_.” And the admission feels…nice. It feels refreshing to say something that’s been sitting on the tip of his tongue since the night before out loud.

Niall doesn’t mock him for being a wimp. Instead, his smile softens into something that can almost resemble fondness, his eyes glimmering with something that pulls Harry in and refuses to let go. “You’ll be fine. They’re just teenagers, not monsters.” Niall pats Harry’s back, his hand a warm and comforting weight on the expanse between his shoulder blades. “And it’s _drama_. You can’t suck that bad.”

Harry’s a bit rattled that Niall actually remembers their conversation the other day. He doesn’t really think he’s anyone worthy of being remembered—because he’s actually quite boring—so for Niall to remember what he does, much less his _name,_ is actually pretty astounding. “I guess,” he acquiesces, trying not to focus on how he and Niall are actually walking so close that if Harry’s hands weren’t in his pockets then their knuckles might’ve actually brushed together.

Niall walks right past Harry’s classroom, pulling Harry along with him, saying, “Hey, I can introduce you to some teachers if that’ll make you more comfortable.” And Harry can’t refuse because Niall doesn’t wait for him to answer before he’s pulling him into the teachers’ lounge. There aren’t many people in there, just a few storing their lunches in the refrigerator and some preparing a cuppa before they have to start their day.

The first person Niall introduces him to is a tall fellow with trimmed brown hair and kind brown eyes. He shakes Harry’s hand firmly as he introduces himself Liam Payne who teaches physics and whose classroom is on the third floor.

“Liam’s just a bit lonely up there, that’s why he always tells people where his classroom is,” Niall jokes after the greeting and receives a playful punch under his chin from Liam.

“You should come with us for drinks on Friday night,” Liam tells Harry once Niall tries to move on to the next person. “Lord knows I’ll be needing it after today. I don’t know why these kids hate physics so much.”

“Because physics is hard, Payno,” Niall—whose last name, Harry’s learns, is Horan, and it’s a bit strange that he didn’t know that when Niall makes him feel like he’s known him forever—whines, a bit pathetically at that.

“Maybe you’re just not good at math, Niall,” Harry chips in, trying to fit into the little teacher cliques he’s already seen forming.

“Exactly!” Liam gleams at him, smile so bright it could probably rival Niall’s, and Harry distantly wonders how he managed to get surrounded by such sunshine people. “Harry over here understands.”

The next person Harry is introduced to is Louis Tomlinson, whose first words to him are, “So you’re the new drama teacher then?” without giving Harry the chance to introduce himself. Louis heaves a rather defeated sigh and Harry frowns in response, wondering if he’s already done something wrong, but Niall notices and gives his arm a nudge, sending him a reassuring smile that tells Harry that Louis’ only playing around. “I’ve always wanted to teach drama, but somehow I got stuck with calculus.”

“Oh, Lou,” Niall interrupts. “Don’t pretend like you hate calculus.”

The bantering goes on for a few more moments until Liam chips in to inform them that the first bell will be sounding in five minutes and they should all make their way to their classrooms before the students start filing in. Niall walks Harry to his classroom and it’s only then that Harry starts to feel the dread crawling up his windpipes again, the nerves feeling like they’re threatening to strangle him.

He takes a deep breath before entering his room, which he’d so meticulously decorated the week before to make it feel more like it was his and not some generic classroom. “You’ll be fine, mate,” is what Niall whispers from behind him, and it’s only when he looks over his shoulder that Harry realizes that Niall’s classroom is right across from his and he could almost laugh at the coincidence.

“Thanks, Niall,” Harry replies with a smile, which then curls up into something resembling a smirk. “Or should I start calling you Mr. Horan?”

Niall doesn’t say anything in response. He just throws his head back and laughs his sunshine laugh before shooting Harry a wink and heading into his classroom, and Harry chuckles to himself before doing the same.

Three minutes and fifteen seconds later—no, Harry was _not_ counting—the first of his students start to file in with a sort of first-day-of-school hype, which is mostly nervous energy, which Harry actually remembers all too well from his own school days. This shouldn’t be so bad, Harry thinks to himself, and then he smiles because that’s exactly what everyone’s been telling him.

“Good morning!” he greets, and the students respond amicably. “My name is Mr. Styles and I’ll be your drama teacher for the year.”

When he starts to hand out the syllabus and the kids actually start to look a bit enthusiastic, Harry feels the worry seep out of his pores as if it was never there in the first place.

*

The first thing Harry learns about having a classroom across the hall from Niall’s is that he is a very loud person.

Even if the door is closed, Harry can still hear Niall yammering on excitedly about whatever piece of literature his class is studying, and Harry doesn’t know if he found it hopelessly endearing or unendingly annoying, especially when he was trying to teach his own class how to understand the language of Shakespeare.

It doesn’t help that the only thing getting Harry through Friday morning is the promise of drinks with the lads in the evening. The first week of school rush has slowed down into a sort of drag, and he can feel the kids getting excited for the upcoming weekend, which means their focus in class hasn’t been the greatest.

His favorite groups of students are definitely the seniors that he has first and last periods. Maybe it’s because he and them are closer in age, or maybe it’s because they’re definitely more mature than their fellow underclassmen, but Harry finds it easier to connect with them than with any other class.

“Alright,” he starts, clapping his hands together once to grab their attention. They might be his favorite group, but he wasn’t about to make that obvious. Besides, they were being a bit too chatty. “I’ll be holding auditions on Monday afternoon for the school play. We’ll be performing, of course, _Romeo and Juliet_ ,” he holds up his copy with a wry smile, “at the Winter Showcase, so we have more than enough time to prepare if we start now.”

“But Mr. Styles!” a girl with straight, jet-black hair and a tendency to worry about the smallest things, pipes up, “that’s less than four months from now!”

Harry smiles. “Suzy, it’s more than enough time to prepare. I have faith in you guys.” Harry’s trying to be reassuring but he’s feeling the pull of the weekend too and, really, he can’t wait for those drinks. “The bell’s going to ring in about ten minutes, so I just wanted to give you guys that reminder and that all of you must contribute to the play in some way for a grade. Your audition will be a few lines from a character of your choosing as well as an explanation of why you want to play that character. You can audition individually or in pairs if you so choose, but the sign-up sheets are right outside my door,” Harry points to the door for emphasis, “and I expect to receive one from each and every one of you by the end of Monday.”

He doesn’t receive as many moans and groans as he was expecting by the end of his announcement, for which he’s grateful, and the remainder of the class goes by without a hitch. As Harry’s bantering on with some of them, he can see Niall’s profile from the window of the doors as he’s writing something on his whiteboard. Niall looks over at the last second only to catch Harry staring, and he only waggles his eyebrows and sends him a grin in response before continuing his lesson, and Harry doesn’t even have time to blush.

The bell rings in a few more minutes and as his class quickly files out, Harry starts to gather his things to do the same thing. He’s about to walk out when he remembers that he needs to take home his lesson plan binder to put together his lesson for the next class. When he returns, he catches Niall just as he’s about to head out too, and greets him with a clap on his back. “So, how was your week?” Harry asks with a grin, and Niall just shrugs.

“Pretty eventful. Pretty tiring. I can definitely say that I’m in desperate need of a pint, though.” Niall sends him another waggle of his brows and Harry makes a sound of agreement before he starts chuckling. “So,” Niall says, just as they’re turning the corner to head into the corridor that leads into the car park. “Have you heard the news?”

Niall is wearing a sneaky smirk that makes Harry hesitate to ask what he’s going on about. “What news?” he relents, quirking a brow at Niall.

By then, Liam’s caught up with them wearing an exasperated expression, and Niall looks like he’s holding back a laugh at the look that Liam shoots him. “You’ve officially surpassed Liam as the hottest teacher in school,” Niall gets out through relentless giggles, and Harry looks at him in astonishment.

“I dunno about that mate,” he replies, patting Liam’s shoulder. “I hear the girls, and some boys, giggling about you in the hallway sometimes.”

Liam snorts, raising his hands in defense. “Trust me, mate, I’m more than happy to give away the title. S’a bit weird being your students’ crush.”

And Harry just shakes his head as he allows himself to be led out by the first two people he’s managed to befriend in this new environment. He realizes that he’s _definitely_ more at ease than he was at the beginning of the week.

*

Niall is very very very pretty. Harry thinks he’s even prettier in the moonlight than in the sunlight.

Needless to say, Harry is very very very tipsy.

“Haz,” Louis slurs, and Harry can’t really remember revealing his childhood nickname but he’s just going with the flow of the alcohol at this point. “You never really told us how you ended up in London.”

Most of the night was spent sharing their experiences of the week. From first-test panicking to students’ strange attempts at flirting, all of the stories shared had Harry laughing louder than the low alt-rock music floating from the speakers of the tiny—and rather shady—pub. However, as the drinks kept on coming, the night spiraled into drunken attempts at getting to know Harry, and he was all too happy to oblige with the lads’ questioning.

“Well part of the reason is that I needed a job,” Harry says with a laugh as he downs his drink. “And you know, wanting to be independent, trying to get away from ex-boyfriends, those kind of contributed to my decision too.”

Liam groans at that, and Harry’s skin immediately heats up in defense because he, too late, realizes that he’s just accidentally revealed his sexuality and, while he isn’t ashamed of it in any way, he’s not really in the state to properly defend himself if Liam chooses to mock him in any way about it. What Liam says next, though, surprises him. “I feel you with the ex’s. That’s why I moved here too.”

Louis cackles in response. “Oh god. Both of you are too lucky that you didn’t have to spend those first few weeks listening to Liam moan and groan about all of his ex-boyfriends over cheap vodka.”

“Hey,” Liam whines, and this time, they all start laughing. “It was a serious issue at the time.”

“Wasn’t denying it, mate,” is what Louis says next, taking a sip of his choice of poison, and Harry figures that this conversation isn’t going to take a turn anytime soon so he turns to Niall, who seems to be watching him with interest.

This is the exact moment that Harry thinks he might have a teeny, tiny, microscopic crush on Niall, because his bright blue eyes shine with so much honesty and sincerity, and Harry’s never seen anything like it before. “So,” Niall begins, scooting in closer to Harry in the booth so Harry doesn’t have to strain to hear him over Liam and Louis. “Where did ya say ya lived before ya moved ‘ere?”

Harry tries not to focus on the fact that Niall’s accent is a hell of a lot thicker when he’s been drinking and instead tries to focus on giving him an answer. “Cheshire. With my mum and sister.”

“Ah,” Niall nods as he flags down the bartender—who, coincidentally, is also his friend—to send another round of drinks over. “And wha’ about your dad?”

Harry hums over one last sip of his drink. “He and my mum divorced when I was really young. Didn’t really get to see him around a lot after that.”

Niall grunts out what sounds like it was meant to be a laugh, his head lolling backwards to rest on the back of the booth, and Harry wishes he weren’t so damn beautiful in the dim lighting of the pub, wishes that he didn’t have the immense urge to kiss Niall’s soft, peachy lips right then and there. He looks tired, but in the serene way, the comfortable and lovely and endearing way. “The nuances of love,” he says lowly, and Harry can hear from the grogginess his voice has let out that he probably wants to go to sleep.

Harry frowns at that. He doesn’t think love is a bad thing like Niall’s just put it out to be. Because the truth is, Harry is really in love with the idea of love. There’s something magical about the emotions that come with being in a relationships and the words two hearts seem to exchange with each other when the physical mouths aren’t moving. Something enchanting about feeling so strongly about someone else that you forget about yourself sometimes. He can’t imagine someone else not feeling the same way. “What’s love ever done to you?” Harry finds himself asking.

Niall blinks at him, his expression turning blank. “I just,” he sighs and tries to stall by taking a sip of his refilled drink. “I just don’t get it, y’know? Like. I just feel like the whole idea of love is so overhyped.”

Liam and Louis have fucked off to god knows where so Harry thinks it’s safe to scoot closer. “I think,” Harry gets out, voice low and almost sultry, “that you haven’t given love a chance yet.”

Harry can feel Niall’s breaths fanning over his skin when his breathing speeds up ever so slightly, and he can’t help the smirk that curves along his lips at the realization.

And if Harry surprises Niall with a teasing kiss in the car park before they leave in separate cabs, well, then that’s nobody’s business.

*

Niall is _way_ _too loud_ in the mornings.

And Harry is _way_ too hungover.

He doesn’t know why he thought it was the best idea to meet up with Nick, his best friend who was visiting from Manchester, on a _Sunday night_ for drinks when he was already out and about on Friday, but he’s definitely regretting that decision now, because he can barely keep his head up after three cups of strongly brewed coffee and splashing his face with cold water several times.

And it _definitely_ doesn’t help that he can hear Niall chattering on about, _of all things_ , Romeo and Juliet, while he’s trying to teach his freshmen to memorize the lines. It doesn’t help that Niall’s current section is hell bent on laughing so hard that Harry can feel it reverberating in his skull.

Harry knows that Niall can see him through the windows on the doors, mostly because Niall is looking straight at him for no reason at all except to bother him—because Harry is _convinced_ that the little shit knows he’s hungover and is deliberately trying to irritate him. He sends Niall a withering look through the glass, hoping he’ll get the message and shut his class up.

He doesn’t.

They just get louder.

Harry’s going to smash his head into the wall.

“Mr. Horan will you tell your class to be quiet!” Harry all but bellows at the door only to watch Niall throw his head back in his sunshine laugh and ignore him.

His own class is looking a bit afraid of him at the moment and it’s only when the ever-so-quiet Suzy raises her hand that he calms down a little. “Mr. Styles,” she says timidly, hesitating to continue until Harry nods at her. “You realize the doors are closed right?”

Harry sighs. “He was looking right at me when I was yelling at him, Suzy.”

At that, a girl, Priya, who sits in the back and stays out of trouble, pipes up. “So you can see Mr. Horan when you stand there?” she asks, and she sounds like she’s onto something.

Harry shrugs. “Only when he’s standing in the exact same spot,” he replies, but his whole class is too into the situation and they don’t seem satisfied at the answer. “Remember, guys,” he starts in order to distract him, “auditions are still on for afterschool today and tomorrow. I’m still waiting for some of you to submit your sign-up sheets.”

Marcus, the designated class clown—because _of course_ every single high school needs one—clears his throat before raising his hand, which Harry is actually surprised at because, if anything, Marcus was known for his random outbursts. “What if we don’t submit a sign-up sheet?”

Harry purses his lips at that. “That I’ll have to pick a role for you and you may not be happy with my choice.” At that, Marcus silences, frowning a bit petulantly in his seat, and Harry has to huff out a laugh to keep from startling them with an outburst. “If you don’t want to act, remember that there are other roles too. Every part that we went over with the theatre production lesson will be available so I’m sure you’ll find something you’re interested in, Marcus.”

The class seems more at ease with him then, and when the bell rings, signaling the start of lunch, his head feels much better than it did during first period. Harry makes his way towards the teachers’ lounge because a cuppa definitely sounds great right now. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll catch Louis on the way and ask him to prepare it for him. If there’s one thing he’s learned during his time at Kingsbury is that Louis makes a mean cuppa.

Unfortunately for him, the first person he comes across is none other than the blond nuisance that is Niall Horan, a broad, devilish grin curling across his features as soon as he spots Harry. “You look like, shit, mate,” is what Niall greets him with when he catches up to him, his comment paired with a nudge on his arm. “Friday been too hard on you?”

Harry snarls. “More like last night. My friend Nick came over to visit and I got a little too carried away,” he complains petulantly, shoving his hands into his pocket to keep from reaching out to touch Niall’s hair, which looks exceptionally soft today.

Niall laughs, eyes crinkling up in the corners in the cutest way and now Harry really wants to bang his head against a wall because he’s not supposed to have a crush on Niall, it’s _unprofessional_. “How about we make you a cuppa?” Niall offers, voice lifting in the sweetest way, and Harry thinks that if he kisses Niall right this second that he’ll probably taste sugary sweet and delightful—and that’s when Harry remembers.

He kissed Niall on Friday. At the pub. When they were drunk.

Was he so inebriated that he couldn’t even remember that he did something he’d been wanting to do ever since he first saw Niall jogging past his flat all those weeks ago?

He doesn’t even know if Niall swings that way. He hadn’t even _asked_.

“Hey, drunkie,” Niall calls, his fingers snapping in front of Harry’s face until he’s snapping back to reality. “Lost ya for a second there,” he jokes, and Harry doesn’t remember what they were talking about.

“Sorry, what?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t look like an idiot.

Niall smiles at him. “I asked if ya wanted a cuppa.” Harry dumbly nods in response just as they’re entering the teacher’s lounge, which, coincidentally, is empty. Great.

All Harry can think about is that he can’t remember how Niall’s lips tasted that night, or how they felt when they were pressed against his. Was it a long kiss? Gentle? Passionate? Sloppy?

He needs to know.

To his surprise, Niall doesn’t make tea, but he somehow manages to whip up two piping cups hot cocoa, topped with whipped cream and everything, by the time he snaps out of his daydream, with the few materials they have available in their lounge. Harry drinks his warm beverage in silence as he listens to Niall yammer on about the latest footie scores and how he can’t believe Louis’ team beat his because that’s just a damn travesty. He watches Niall’s lips move as he talks and _tries_ to remember the kiss so hard that by the end of it, his headache has started up again and he’s more upset than he was when this all started.

When he looks up from his mug Niall’s already looking at him, the corners of his lips pulled up slightly into the smallest of smiles, and Harry can’t understand how everything about Niall is so damn _luminous_. His 100-watt smile is _bright bright bright_ and his cerulean eyes are _blue blue blue_ and even his damn _hair_ makes him radiant and dazzling and stunning.

“Harry,” Niall whispers, and Harry finds himself leaning closer and closer and closer until he can feel the puffs of Niall’s air fanning over his skin in waves as he breathes. “You’ve got—on your lips—” But Niall doesn’t finish his statement, instead crowding Harry into the table, his long, pale fingers hooking into Harry’s belt loops and his blue blue blue eyes trained on his lips, and Harry has to think to put his mug down before he drops it.

When it happens, Harry’s mind goes blank.

Niall’s lips are soft and a little rough from where the skin is slightly chapped, and his body is warm as he holds himself to Harry as he licks the cocoa off the top of Harry’s lips before going in for a kiss, and that’s when he remembers it. He remembers himself initiating the kiss but Niall leading it until they were pressed against someone’s car, hands unable to figure out where they want to be placed, drunken lips unable to get enough.

But Friday night was different from now. Now, it’s soft and languid and sweet, and Niall takes his time licking into Harry’s mouth and nipping on his tongue. And it’s over too soon and Harry wants to do it again but then Liam and Louis are storming into the lounge chattering on about something and all Harry can think about is that he hopes that this isn’t a one-time thing.

“Hey, Nialler, did you check up on the blog lately?” is what Liam says as he hurries in and closes the door behind him. While Liam looks a bit perturbed, Louis is wearing the sneakiest of smirks, so Harry is a bit conflicted on what to make of the current situation.

Niall hums thoughtfully. “Haven’t really checked up on it in a while, no. Why?”

“What blog?” chirps Harry. He wants to be in the loop too.

They ignore him. “Monty’s posted something new! And it sounds a lot like it’s about someone we know.” Liam sounds cautious but Louis starts laughing about it and Harry’s even more confused.

“Who’s Monty?” he asks, hoping no one’ll ignore him again.

Louis looks to him, signature smirk still etched onto his face as he steals what’s left of Harry’s cocoa. “Short for Montalet. Stupid name really. It’s this person running a blog writing romance stories inspired by people in our school and no one knows who it is,” he explains, and Liam nods along with him.

“We’ve always thought it was a student since they were the ones who started to really talk about it. Not that the person’s identity matters or anything, it’s just a bit of entertainment in our boring teacher lives.” Liam smiles at Niall then, who simply shrugs him off.

“Not too into romance,” he explains to Harry, who only quirks a brow at him. “Although I can appreciate a student writing stories to practice their writing skills.”

Louis rolls his eyes at that. “Niall, you literally teach romantic literature for a living. I don’t understand why you’re such a grump about it.”

Niall isn’t given the chance to respond, though, because the bell is ringing, sounding that they all need to start heading back to their classes to tend to their next section of students. They say their “see you laters” and start to make their way back to their classrooms. Harry notices that Niall is walking closer to him than normal and smiles to himself a bit, not at all feeling like utter crap anymore.

“Hey,” Niall starts, nudging Harry’s shoulder with his own. “What d’ya say about skipping drinks with the lads on Friday and hanging out with me and several terrible film adaptations of classic novels instead?”

Harry doesn’t have to think twice before agreeing.

*

“What is love?” is the first question Harry poses to his first period class, which is one of his all-senior bunches. It’s been well into a month and a half of school and he’s starting to get the hang of things.

No hands go up at first, but when they do, it’s mostly the girls. Harry picks Suzy.

“Love is an intense feeling of deep affection for someone,” is what she says, and Harry has to smile in response because leave it to Suzy to come up with a dictionary definition.

“Alright,” Harry says. “But what does love mean to you?”

The next hand that goes up is Marcus’. “Love is all of those romance stories that Montalet posts on his blog.”

The entire class chuckles at that, and Harry smiles again because leave it to Marcus to crack a joke when he’s trying to be serious. Priya speaks up next. “How d’you know ol’ Monty’s a bloke?” she asks, and she sounds a bit defensive.

“Well,” Marcus starts. “Blokes can write love stories. After all _Romeo and Juliet_ was written by Shakespeare.”

“ _Romeo and Juliet_ is not a love story, it’s a tragedy,” says the whole class in unison, and Harry feels an immense surge of pride at that response because they are truly his students and it seems that he’s taught them well.

Niall chooses that moment to peek his head into Harry’s classroom. “Anyone walking by can tell how proud Mr. Styles is of you lot right now,” he jokes, and the whole room rumbles with laughter. Harry rolls his eyes at all of them only to catch Niall waggling his brows at him, gesturing towards Harry’s whiteboard.

Niall’s taken to leaving notes on Harry’s whiteboard recently, these vague, poorly-drawn stick doodles that Harry often has trouble deciphering. Today’s note consists of just one word: _tonight!_ Which, really, is not inconspicuous in the slightest. Harry’s starting to wonder whether their students are starting to think something is going on between the pair of them.

“Well, Mr. Horan,” Harry starts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Since you’re so keen on interrupting my class, why don’t you answer my question. What does love mean to you?”

Harry doesn’t mean to hold his breath as he awaits Niall’s answer, but he does, like whatever Niall may say can have the ability to break him. But Harry knows better and he knows that he and Niall aren’t even a thing so what he says shouldn’t matter, and yet something deep inside his core is telling him that it _does_. “I think,” Niall says, squaring his shoulders and fixing his blue blue blue eyes on the class, “that love is overrated and is nothing like everyone puts it out to be.”

At that, the entire class guffaws, because leave it to Niall to make them laugh. “Mr. Horan!” crows Marcus. “What do you think about Montalet’s new blog post?”

Niall scoffs at that and Harry’s starting to think that he needs to check out this Montalet’s blog because he or she seems to be the talk of the school lately and Harry feels very left out of the loop. Before he can dwell too much on it, Niall’s saying, “I think he or she is a great writer, but like I said, I’m not into romance.”

Suzy, Harry’s ever-so-perceptive Suzy, looks straight into his eyes and says. “Maybe Mr. Horan just needs to give love a chance. Right, Mr. Styles?”

Harry thinks he might faint. They _are_ being totally and completely obvious. “Yeah,” he murmurs, glancing at Niall before sending a smile Suzy’s way. “Maybe he does.”

*

The crisp autumn breeze curls around Harry’s ears like it’s telling him a secret as he trudges up to the complex where Niall’s flat is. He spots Niall’s car in the car park as he’s heading up so at least he’s sure he’s at the right address.

Something has been stirring in the pit of his core since Niall’s invited him over, like an odd sense of foreboding, and Harry just doesn’t know what to expect of the whole thing. Should he have brought food? Drinks? A film?

No, that’s dumb, he thinks. The only reason he’s been invited was to _watch_ a film.

On a whim, Harry spins around on his heel back to his car to retrieve the bottle of wine someone had given him a month or so ago that he’d never got around to opening. He actually doesn’t even drink wine but he doesn’t want to seem like a rude guest.

By the time he’s ridden the lift up to Niall’s floor and bitten through one of his fingernails, his grip on the wine bottle’s gone white, and he’s too nervous to knock on Niall’s door. He finds that he doesn’t have to, though, because just as a few moments go by, his door is cracking open only to reveal a soft, boyfriend-y Niall dressed in comfy joggers and a warm jumper and Harry’s heart jumps right up into his throat at the sight.

“You just gonna stand out here all night?” Niall jokes, reaching out for Harry’s wrist only to gingerly pull him inside the warm confines of his home. “C’mere, ya nutter.”

Niall’s already got the film put in and a bowl of popcorn and crisps sitting on his coffee table. Harry smiles. “I brought wine,” he says, holding up the glass. “But I have to warn you, I’m not too sure of the flavor of this one.”

Niall laughs, taking the bottle from Harry’s hands and gesturing for him to have a seat. “You didn’t have to do that, mate,” he says, smiling his sunshine smile as he places the bottle on the table and scoots in next to Harry, reaching over him to get the remote. “But I’m not complaining. There’s never a bad time for alcohol.”

Harry laughs. “So what are we watching?”

Niall hums, gesturing to the CD cases under the coffee table. “Modern day _Romeo and Juliet_ with Leo DiCaprio first,” he says, munching on his snacks. “And,” he turns to Harry to waggle his brows, “if you’re not too tired after that, an older version of _Of Mice and Men_.”

Harry grins and Niall starts the film. “You said that you’re showing this to your class?” Harry asks, popping a few crisps into his mouth. When Niall nods, he says, “Maybe we should combine our classes then? I think this might be a good one to show my kids too. They’re struggling with relating to the language.”

Niall tilts his head thoughtfully. “Think that’ll be a great idea actually. Kill two birds with one stone, right?”

Harry nods, chuckling. They focus their attention back to the film. Harry’s engrossed in it for a bit until he catches a glimpse of Niall’s desktop right before it switches to the screensaver. The screen that’s just switched off looks a bit familiar, and Harry realizes that Niall was scrolling through Montalet’s blog before he opened the door for him.

“How much d’you know about this Montalet character?” Harry finds himself asking, curiosity getting the best of him. He might’ve scrolled through the first couple of posts to see what all the hype is about, but he hadn’t really had time to read one of the stories with focus and concentration.

If one were simply looking at Niall, his body language might seem nonchalant. But because Harry’s sitting right next to him, their shoulders just barely brushing each other, he can feel the way Niall stiffens the _slightest_ bit. Harry gets the impression that Niall is stalling when he reaches for the bottle of wine to pop the cork open. He takes a swig straight from the bottle before answering. “Dunno really,” he drawls, shrugging slightly. “I know that it’s obvious that the stories are inspired by people in our school but it’s all about _love_ and that’s not really my genre.”

Harry huffs out a chuckle, stealing the bottle from Niall’s grip to take a swig of his own. “Then why was his blog open on your desktop a few moments ago?” Harry retorts, a smirk curving along his lips when Niall stiffens again.

“Because it’s good writing,” Niall gets out nonchalantly. “I can appreciate a good writer.”

Harry doesn’t believe him but he lets him off the hook for now. They watch the film in silence, the only movement from them being to reach for the crisps on the table or take another swig of the wine. Harry doesn’t like to think he’s a lightweight, but the wine is _strong_ , and by the time they’re fighting for the last dregs of the deep burgundy liquid at the bottom of the bottle, Harry’s head is definitely swimming.

Harry’s phone keeps going off. It’s all of his friends from Manchester asking if he’s going to be paying them a visit now that the wedding is coming around the corner. Harry has no interest in attending his ex-boyfriend’s wedding, and he tells Niall just as much when he asks why he’s not responding to the text messages. But Niall only laughs and gives him a reassuring nudge, which has Harry’s cheeks filling with color.

“Do you even _like_ this film?” Harry asks with a laugh, because clearly both of them have lost interest somewhere towards the middle, and because Harry wants to change the subject before they start having an in-depth conversation about his ex.

“Nah,” Niall drawls, leaning into the comfort of his couch, eyes fluttering shut slightly. The lighting makes him look younger because it brings out the pink flush on his skin from the wine and it streaks through his unstyled hair in waves. “’M not into romance. But I’m still gonna show it to my classes.”

And Niall just smells _so_ good and he looks so warm that Harry can’t help but lean into the softness of his jumper. “Not into romance, huh?” Harry murmurs lowly. He trails his nose along Niall’s faint cheekbones, relishing in the way his breath stutters at the slightest bit of contact. Niall melts into Harry’s touch, the smallest sigh bubbling from his mouth as Harry ghosts his lips across the line of his jaw and down the column of his neck. “Are you into this?”

The film is still playing. DiCaprio’s shot someone but Harry isn’t paying attention, instead focusing on the puffs of Niall’s shallow breathing and the way his rosy blush deepens into a scarlet flush, and Niall’s not pushing him away so he takes it as his cue to lean even closer, his hand resting dangerously high on Niall’s thigh. Harry doesn’t think he’s drunk but the wine’s definitely making his head a little lighter than normal and his confidence peaking at a height he’s not sure it’s ever reached.

He suckles and nibbles along Niall’s soft flesh, coaxing sigh after sigh and whimper after whimper from Niall’s pretty lips, and he actually plans on teasing him a bit more until Niall is surprising him by pouncing on him, knocking him onto his back as he crawls in to settle between Harry’s hips and locking their lips together in a desperate kiss.

“Fuckin’ tease,” Niall grits out between kisses—and his voice sounds so _wreaked_ which sends a chill down Harry’s spine because he hasn’t even _done_ anything yet—before he attacks Harry’s lips again and swallows the surprised moan that escapes from him. Before Harry knows it, Niall’s fingers are in his hair and his hips are grinding slow circles into his, and maybe Harry should be embarrassed from all of the sounds coming out of his mouth but he can’t really bring himself to care when everything Niall’s doing is making him feel _so fucking good_.

Niall’s relentless too. He grinds and swirls his hips in such ways that Harry sees stars whenever he closes his eyes and his pants get tighter and tighter until he can’t keep up with Niall’s ministrations anymore and comes with a low, guttural groan that only makes Niall buck into him even harder.

Harry can’t really feel his legs, but he still manages to manhandle Niall until he’s the one sprawled out on the couch. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Niall’s joggers with a trembling sort of ease, tugging them down his meaty thighs and then scrawny legs only to throw the article of clothing over his shoulder, listening to them fall to the floor behind him in a whisper of fabric.

He’d actually only planned on tugging Niall off until he’s writhing beneath him, but those plans quickly melt away when Harry helps Niall shrug out of his boxers. At the sight of his exposed dick, hard and leaking with precum, two thick veins running up the shaft to his head, Harry’s mouth waters, and he can’t help but spend the next few minutes with his lips wrapped tightly around the head of Niall’s cock and working him until he’s a moaning, writhing mess.

Niall’s naturally very loud, and Harry expects all of the moans and grunts and absent prayers to a million and one different powers, but what he doesn’t expect is for Niall to get almost startlingly quiet when he comes. It’s a sight to behold though, because Niall’s skin is flushed the prettiest shade of scarlet, and his lips are parted in pleasure, eyes fluttered shut as he focuses all of his energy into concentrating on his orgasm.

When he comes down from the high, Harry helps to fix him back into his pants. By now, the end credits are rolling on the screen, and Harry excuses himself to the loo to clean himself up. He can’t recognize himself when he looks into the mirror, all flushed cheeks and wild hair, but he can’t deny the fact that his entire being seems to be glowing. He hopes that Niall doesn’t blame whatever’s just happened on the liquor and tries to pretend it didn’t happen.

His fears are short-lived, though, because as Harry makes his way back to the sitting room to retrieve his phone, Niall’s making grabby hands for him, beckoning him close to his warmth, and who’s Harry to refuse?

“Stay here,” Niall murmurs into Harry’s hair when he’s settled down next to him. He sleepily peppers a slew of butterfly kisses along Harry’s temple, and Harry can’t help but nuzzle closer to the comfort that is Niall. “Maybe we can do that again later too.”

Harry can’t help the delirious sort of giggle that bubbles from his lips, and when Niall starts laughing as well, Harry just pulls him closer and hopes he doesn’t change his mind.

*

Rehearsals aren’t going so well.

Harry wants to pull his hair out.

“It’s like you guys aren’t even trying!” he gets out in his frustration. He’s never been one to use a harsh tone with his students, but they’ve been practicing the same scene way too many times and irritation is beginning to crawl up Harry’s bones. “You realize this is a _grade_ right?” he grits out to no one in particular. “The show is in _December_ and we’re not even halfway through!”

“Mate, we’re trying here,” comes Marcus’ voice, and Harry didn’t realize he’s been pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not easy performing bloody Shakespere. And it’s a _love_ scene. Priya and I don’t even like each other.”

Harry sighs in frustration. “First of all, I’m not your _mate_ ,” he snarls, and he knows he’s going to end up regretting this later and he’ll buy the whole class pizza to make up for it. But for now, he’s bordering on livid and he doesn’t know how to stop it. “Second of all, it’s not about how you interact in your personal lives, it’s about playing a role, and right now, both of you are the characters of Romeo and Juliet and you’re supposed to be hopelessly infatuated with each other!”

“Whoa,” comes a voice that Harry knows well. Liam comes strolling in with an amicable smile on his face, his glasses hanging from the collar of his jumper. “Which one of you got Styles’ knickers in a twist?” he jokes, and on any other day, Harry would laugh, but he’s not in the mood so his snarl just tugs on his face even deeper.

“It’s not the time for your jokes, Liam, they’re supposed to be _rehearsing_.” He runs a frustrated hand through his already disheveled hair. He’s sure his hair must be in a right mess at the moment, and he’s starting to wonder whether he regrets choosing drama education as a major in uni.

“Aww,” Liam coos, and Harry has to refrain from rolling his eyes again before his eyeballs fall out of his eye sockets or something. “Is ickle Harold in a bad mood?” he continues, much to the amusement of the class.

Maybe Harry shouldn’t be projecting his bad mood onto his class, but it doesn’t help that his mum is sending him messages hoping to see him in Manchester over the weekend for the wedding. He doesn’t _want_ to go to the stupid fucking wedding. He doesn’t need to see his ex getting married while he’s slaving away as a single teacher that still gets all pouty at the mere mention of the name _Zayn_.

“Hey, Payno, Louis’ eating your—” comes Niall bustling into the room, but he pauses when he sees Liam playfully ruffling Harry’s hair. Niall quirks his brows in curiosity, but Harry can tell from the glint in his eyes that it’s mostly amusement than curiosity. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, Styles?” he asks nonchalantly, and the whole class erupts into a fit of laughter.

“Hey!” Harry all but bellows. The beginnings of a migraine are beginning to swirl in his skull. “Not one of you are allowed to laugh until these two,” he points to Marcus and Priya, “get their scene right!”

This coaxes a pout from Priya. “It’s not my fault! Marcus is the one being difficult!” she explains, but Harry’s too irritated for explanations. He realizes that this is not good teacher behavior, but they’ve been working on this scene for _four_ days, and each time it’s like pulling teeth. Harry thinks he has a right to be miffed.”

Before he can open his mouth to say something he might regret, Niall jumps in. “What scene are you lot doing then?”

Priya sighs. “The balcony scene.”

“The _balcony_ scene?” Niall asks incredulously. “We went over that scene a million times in my class too. This should be no problem at all.” Niall strolls up to stand next to Harry and mimics his stance of crossing his arms over his chest.

Beside them, Liam can’t stop laughing. “Looks like you lot are in some big trouble then,” he jokes as he grins at the class.

Niall turns to him with a withering look. “Tomlinson’s eating your cookies in the lounge,” he retorts, and the entire classroom vibrates with the laughter that comes next. Liam leaves with a pout and a muttered ‘ _bloody hell, Lou_ ’ under his breath, and Harry and Niall turn to the kids with their lips pulled into identical lines. “Like I was saying,” Niall gets out, “it’s really not a hard scene. I don’t understand what the problem is.”

Priya lets out a sound of disapproval. “I don’t want to kiss _him_!” she says, pointing at Marcus with a snarl on her features, and it’s only then that Harry finds himself holding back a chuckle.

Niall turns to Harry with a quirk of his brow, and Harry’s doesn’t have a good feeling about the look Niall’s just given him. “What shall I swear by?” he says.

Harry’s confused. “What?” he asks, before he realizes that Niall’s attempting to perform the scene with him. Harry frowns for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh. He can’t believe Niall’s just made him Juliet. “Do not swear at all,” Harry says easily, the lines coming to memory like he’s rehearsed it many times, when in reality, he’s only memorized them because they’ve been stuck on this scene for what seems to be ages. “Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry, and I'll believe thee.”

Niall smiles, stepping back a bit because Romeo’s supposed to be climbing up the balcony. “If my heart's dear love…”

“Well, do not swear, although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract tonight.” The lines come easily to Harry as he shuffles closer towards Niall, the glint of the sunrays shining through the windows glimmering in his eyes, and Harry’s so fucking enamored. “It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden. Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be.” The class is watching them with rapt attention, maybe even in disbelief, but Harry isn’t even paying attention to them anymore. “Good night, good night! As sweet repose and rest. Come to thy heart as that within my breast!”

Niall’s looking at him like he’s the sun and the moon and all of the stars in the sky, and Harry’s breath catches in his throat. He finds himself leaning closer when Niall speaks. “O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”

“What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?” Harry’s voice drops to a whisper, and he can feel the energy around the room swirling around them, the buildup of it almost maddening, and Harry doesn’t know whether he’s supposed to be expecting a big blowout.

Niall gives him the smallest of smiles. He slowly laces his fingers into Harrys before changing his mind and taking his hand instead.  “The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.”

Harry hears a murmured “ _whoa_ ” from one of the students, but it’s too late to fall out of character now. “I gave thee mine before thou didst request it. And yet I would it were to give again.”

Niall brings their hands up to hover between their bodies, his fingers a warm weight on Harry’s skin. “Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?”

“But to be frank, and give it thee again.” Harry thinks he’s losing himself in Niall’s eyes. He’s basically just told Niall he’s in love with him. But he has to tell himself that it isn’t real, that it’s just a play. “And yet I wish but for the thing I have. My bounty is as boundless as the sea. My love as deep; the more I give to thee. The more I have, for both are infinite.”

Harry can’t believe his eyes when Niall leans in the slightest bit, warm breath fanning against Harry’s already heated skin, and he doesn’t realize he’s blushing until he hears someone gasping in the back of the room when Niall gives the impression that he’s about to kiss him. And Harry will never admit it but he _wants_ it, is ready for it. But Niall breaks the moment by whacking him on his chest, with an open palm and the energy that had been surrounding them shatters and falters to the ground. “No homo, bro,” Niall jokes, and Harry laughs so loud that it rivals the thunderous rumbles of chuckles from his students.

*

Harry is panicking.

He’s meant to be in Manchester in the next twenty four hours and he’s not even packed.

Hell he’s not even _mentally prepared_.

All of these thoughts come as he’s in the longue with Niall, Liam, and Louis. Louis’ managed to hook up his Xbox to the lounge telly and he and Liam are busying themselves with playing a round of GTA while the other teachers are too occupied with preparing their afternoon cuppas. Harry’s squeezed onto one of the smaller couches with Niall typing away on his laptop, organizing his lesson plans for the week because he hated doing them over the weekend.

Harry’s too busy fiddling with his fingers as he tries to watch Liam and Louis’ game when he feels Niall scooting over slightly, tilting the screen of his laptop over so Harry can see what’s displayed. It’s a video of a grizzly bear jumping into a pool, and Harry smiles as he feels his own body leaning towards Niall’s warmth. Niall reaches over to tug on Harry’s tie. “What’s got my Juliet so tensed?” he jokes, fingers moving upwards to squeeze Harry’s bun.

Harry chuckles, lightly knocking a fist against Niall’s chin. “Nah, it’s nothing.”

Niall hums before closing his laptop and setting it down on the coffee table where Liam’s feet are resting—which Harry thinks is actually a bad idea because Liam can easily knock it over what with his excitement over the game—but before he can say anything about it, Niall’s ushering him over to the coffee maker.

Harry wonders if he’s imagining the fact that Niall has a hand on the small of his back the whole time.

“Is it about the wedding?” Niall asks when he’s pulling out his mug from the cupboard. All teachers bring their own personal mug and keep it in the lounge and Niall’s has all the colors of the Irish flag.

Harry’s actually surprised Niall remembers that conversation. He’s pretty sure Niall was tipsier off the wine than he was, but he appreciates the fact that he still listens to whatever Harry has to say. “Yeah,” he admits. “I have to be up in Manchester by tomorrow.” He lets out a small sigh when Niall reassuringly grips his elbow. “My mum’s going too so she’s been blackmailing me to make sure I go.”

Niall lets out a startled sort of laugh. “What’s your mum doing in Manchester?”

Harry smiles. “Zayn and I were friends since we were kids so,” he shrugs. “Our mums are very close.”

Niall nods. Harry doesn’t understand how the sunlight always manages to illuminate certain strands of his hair, and he doesn’t understand how Niall just _glows_ all the time. But he does know that his skin radiates warmth from the light emitting from Niall, and he knows that he can’t stop thinking about the way Niall kissed him in this very lounge, all soft and sweet and tender, and then again at his place, hungry, desperate, and passionate. “So are you all packed then?” Niall asks as he starts the coffee maker.

“Nope.” Harry reaches for his own mug from the shelf before browsing the K-cup flavor selections. He decides on espresso. “Don’t really want to go, to be quite honest.” He sees Niall smiling in amusement from the corner of his eye and slides over so his can knock his hips against his. “You should come with me to put me out of my misery,” he half-jokes, but it’s only when the words are out of his mouth that he realizes how good of an idea it is. If Niall agrees to drive up to Manchester with him, then he won’t have to face Zayn alone. He turns to Niall with swift dexterity, grabbing his shoulders. “Niall, will you please be my plus one!”

Niall looks startled, eyes blown with and brows pulled together. “You want _me_ to go to Manchester with you,” he repeats, as if it needs a bit more processing in his brain until he can understand Harry’s question.

“Yes! It’s a great idea,” Harry grins widely, “dunno why I didn’t think of it before.”

Niall scoffs before lifting his mug to his lips to blow on the hot beverage. “You’re crazy, Styles.”

Harry waggles his eyebrows at him. “You’re saying that now,” he says, winking. “But when you’re up in Manchester drinking all the Guinness your little Irish heart desires, you’ll be thanking me.”

*

It doesn’t take long to convince Niall after that.

All Harry had to do was bribe him with more beer and the next thing he knew, Niall was sitting in his passenger seat, belting out Top 40 hits from the radio at the top of his lungs and munching on chocolate covered pretzels.

Since Niall entered the picture a little late, the hotel where Harry has a reservation didn’t have any spare rooms so Niall had to room with him, which, really, isn’t exactly a problem because Harry certainly isn’t complaining. Harry’s been reading up on Montalet’s blog more often, and he’s been finding that Monty writes several different stories but posts them in different parts at different times.

One story in particular has really stuck with him. The title is ‘ _Hopeless Hearts_ ’ and it’s the only story on the blog that features a gay couple. It’s definitely different than what Harry’s ever read, but he can’t help but be completely engrossed with it. Monty started posting it about a week ago, and so far it has about three parts, but it’s not until Harry’s catching up on the most recent installment that he realizes that he’s never paid attention to the fact that the way these characters are developed is eerily familiar.

The first boy is a hopeless romantic, who lives, walks, and breathes the word _love_. Everything he touches, he fills with happiness, his aura exuding light. The other boy is a writer, and he fills journal after journal with words he meticulously strings together to perfectly articulate the love and care and want he feels for the first boy.

The first parts explain their story nicely, with the basic story of unrequited love laced with traces of passion and desire and affection. It’s what drew Harry in. But as he continues to read as he’s sitting on the hotel room balcony, he realizes that he’s been picturing the characters all wrong. The characteristics are hard to miss, the first boy having dark, curly hair with deep set dimples and the second boy having bright blond hair and sky blue eyes.

Harry doesn’t know how he even missed it.

A surge of adrenaline seeps into his blood as he trips over his own feet in an attempt to get up to show it to Niall. His first thought is that he needs to tell him that Monty’s been writing stories about _them_ and they hadn’t even realized it. He doesn’t make a sound when he first steps into the room, and it’s that very step that allows everything to make sense.

Niall’s on his laptop, his screen pulled up to Monty’s blog. But Harry’s had blogs in the past before, and he knows what an admin’s screen looks like, and suddenly, everything starts to click. He understands why Niall was always so against talking about Monty, and why he kept up with his cover too well but his actions too little, understands why Niall was constantly on Monty’s blog even when he so adamantly claimed that romance isn’t his genre.

Because Niall _is_ Monty.

Harry slowly backs out of the room to collect his thoughts. If Niall is Monty, and he’s the one writing ‘ _Hopeless Hearts_ ’ then that means that he doesn’t know that Harry likes him back. And Harry’s just so hopelessly endeared by it all because Niall really is a secret romantic and he likes Harry but is too afraid admit it to him and Harry thinks that’s the cutest thing in the world.

Maybe this trip will be for the best for both of them.

*

Harry truly doesn’t want to be here.

Leave it to Zayn to throw a huge fucking wedding. Harry can’t even find his mum with the throngs of people scattered everywhere, and he’s pretty sure he’s lost Niall as well. He and Niall’d been sitting together for the ceremony—or they were playing footsies the whole time because Harry didn’t want to look up at his ex-boyfriend getting _married_ —but somehow Harry lost track of him afterwards, and now he’s stuck wandering around like a fucking idiot trying to get to the bar because he needs a drink.

And when Harry gets to the bar he has to laugh because _of course_ Niall would be where the liquor is. By the looks of it, he’s had more than just a few, but he’s still going strong which, Harry kind of admires.

“Harry!” Niall exclaims when he catches sight of him, and by the time Harry gets to his side, he already has a drink ordered and slides it over to him. “Been waitin’ for ya.”

Harry laughs. “Are you wasted yet?” he jokes, tapping Niall under his chin, and he tries to ignore the somersaults his stomach gives when Niall laughs in response.

“Hell no,” Niall replies, arms snaking around Harry’s waist to pull him closer so they can do shots together. “I’m Irish!” And he says it with so much confidence like it’s supposed to explain everything. “Drink up, love,” he tells Harry while offering him a shot glass filled to the brim with god knows what, and Harry doesn’t have to think twice before complying because it’s _Niall_ , and he’s broad and warm and his hand is rubbing circles into his lower back under his blazer and Harry just really wants to kiss him.

But he takes the shot instead, the amber liquid burning all the way down his throat, and he lets it settle into his system for a bit before chasing it down with another.

Harry’s mum chooses that exact time to find him.

“Aww, pumpkin,” she coos when Harry turns around at the call of his name, Niall’s hand falling from his lower back so fast it was as if it wasn’t even there. “I’ve missed you so much,” she says affectionately, bringing him into her arms, and it’s only when she squeezes Harry into a giant, motherly hug that he realizes how much he’s really missed her. “How’ve you been, love?”

Harry holds onto her a bit longer before letting go. “Great, actually,” he says with a smile. “Been really loving it in London.”

She smiles with immense adoration glimmering in her eyes and Harry feels his heart hanging heavy in his chest because he’s missed her so much. He promises himself to call more often when he gets back to London. He can’t imagine her living in their house by herself. She runs her fingers through his styled hair before her attention catches on Niall, who is still sitting by the bar behind him. “And who’s this?” she asks with a smile.

Harry freezes. He should’ve thought this one through.

“This is Niall,” he says automatically, bringing Niall closer with a hand on the small of his back. He didn’t really think about having to introduce Niall to his mum, and he’s been thinking of the Monty stories all day, so what comes out of his mouth next surprises all three of them. “My boyfriend.”

As soon as he’s said it Niall’s body goes tense beside him, and Harry’s eyes widen momentarily before he regains his composure. “Yeah?” Harry’s mum gets out in surprise, her smile broadening once she’s processed that new information. “Nice to meet you, Niall, I’m Anne,” she says, bringing Niall in for a hug, which he returns with just as much enthusiasm. Harry really admires him for keeping his cool under the pressure he’s just put him under.

“Nice meeting you,” he says cordially, and Harry can tell how much he’s trying not to slur his words. “Harry talks a lot about you.”

She laughs. “Good things, I hope!”

Much to Harry’s surprise, his mum and Niall continue a conversation for a long time. They somehow end up sitting on a table on the beautiful country club grounds with the sun slowly slinking beyond the trees and the sky swirling with the colors of dusk. It’s only when Harry’s had enough of shuffling his feet and adding his two cents only to be ignored—and _maybe_ because he spotted Zayn in the distance talking with a couple of his friends—that he pries Niall away to go to the bar instead.

“Uhm,” Niall gets out, laughter laced in his tone when Harry downs yet another mixed drink. He’s lost track of how many he’s had. “Are you planning on getting drunk?”

“No,” Harry slurs. “I’m not even _tipsy_.”

At that, Niall laughs, because Harry totally proves Niall’s point by tripping over air and into Niall’s arms as they’re making their way across the dance floor to their table, head lolling over to tuck comfortably into the curve of Niall’s shoulder. “I can see that,” Niall says sarcastically, but Harry can hear the fondness in his voice even in his drunken state, and his heart feels as if it’s expanding in his chest at the way Niall tenderly wraps his arms around Harry’s lanky frame.

“Mhm,” Harry hums, pressing one, two, three kisses to the underside of Niall’s jawline leading up to his ear. “Dance with me,” he murmurs, playfully nipping on Niall’s earlobe before giggling manically into his shoulder. Niall complies with a laugh, pressing his lips to Harry’s hair as he softly sings along to the slow song filtering throughout the room through all of the speakers. They dance until the song is over, one with a faster tempo taking its place, and Harry looks up at Niall with bleary eyes. “You should probably take me home before I ruin this wedding with my clumsy drunkenness,” he says groggily.

Niall smiles, skimming his lips across Harry’s hairline. “You’re just saying that because you want to go to sleep.”

A scoff pushes out of Harry’s lips at that. “You know me so well, boyfriend.”

“Of course,” he says, smiling, and Harry distantly wishes that they never have to go back to London if it means staying in Manchester will mean Niall will keep smiling at him like that.

And by the time they stumble their way to their hotel room they’ve probably managed to wake the whole floor, but Harry doesn’t care if it means he gets to push Niall against the door as soon as they’ve gotten inside the warmth of their room, lips hungrily searching for his and hands unable to decide if they want to be curled into his blond locks or busy unzipping his slacks.

He somehow—even with his drunken fingers—manages to do both.

*

Heading back to work on Monday is the last thing Harry wants to do, but he still manages to wake up with his alarm and groan into his pillow as he untangles his legs from Niall’s to get up and start his day.

And despite the fact that he doesn’t really want to go to work, the morning is better than any he’s had in a long time, because when he’s made his way out of the shower, Niall’s already brushed his teeth and is greeting him with a quick kiss before he shrugs out of his clothes and heads in to wash last night’s events from his skin. And when Niall’s gotten ready, Harry’s already prepared his morning cuppa and gives him another kiss in exchange for it.

And if students see them leaving the same car when they get to school in the morning, well, that’s no one’s business.

*

By the time lunch rolls around, Harry’s had enough.

He should’ve probably graded papers before he left for Manchester on Friday because now he’s stuck slaving over them because grades are due in the system in a couple of hours. He’s never been good at making these types of decisions.

He’s just about ready to pull his hair out when Niall comes strolling in. “Aren’t you coming to lunch, Juliet?” he asks playfully, laughing at the end of his question because he’s Niall and he’s stupid like that.

“No,” Harry grumbles, marking another question wrong. He swears some of these kids just don’t study. “I’m stuck grading these tests like a bloody loser.”

Niall looks at him as he leans against the doorframe for a few more moments, and Harry can see the small smile etched onto his features even from the corner of his eyes. It’s because Niall is always so radiant, his bright aura stretching for miles, and Harry knows this because he always feels at ease whenever Niall’s in the same room.

He doesn’t say anything, he just closes the door behind him and turns the lights off, much to Harry’s chagrin. “What are you doing, Niall,” he says dryly, because nothing about him surprises him anymore.

“Giving you a break,” he replies simply, shrugging his shoulders as he reaches out to take Harry’s hands in his, pulling him out of his chair so he can lean against the wall and kiss Harry without anyone seeing.

“My savior,” Harry murmurs, bumping his nose against Niall’s before leaning in for a proper kiss. “Who knew my Monty was such a great partner.”

A gasp works its way through Niall at Harry’s words. He bumps his head against the wall, rolling his eyes and smiling in defeat. “When did you figure it out?” he asks, a laugh threatening to take over his words.

“Manchester.” He takes Niall’s lower lip between his teeth, biting slightly before soothing the slight sting with his tongue and pulling on it before letting go. “So Montalet,” he starts, resting their foreheads together. “Combination of Montague and Capulet? And here I though the t was silent.”

Niall hums. “It does sound better with a silent t,” he admits, hooking his fingers into Harry’s belt loops. “You’re so smart,” he murmurs against his lips. “Can’t believe I underestimated you.”

“I’m a little offended that you did,” Harry says, sighing when Niall leans in to kiss him again.

Niall huffs out a laugh, and Harry kisses him again and again and again just so he can taste the sweetness of it on his tongue. “So what do you say?” Niall asks, and Harry has to think about what he’s asking for a second before he comes up with an answer.

“I say,” he hums, reaching up to twirl his fingers around the soft hairs at the nape of Niall’s neck. “We’re just a bunch of ‘ _Hopeless Hearts_.’

Niall smiles. “Nah. We’re just Niall and Harry.”

There’s about five more minutes left of the lunch period so Harry tells himself to ask the question that he’s been thinking about for the entire morning. “So,” he starts, pulling back a little to look into Niall’s eyes. “Since I never really formally asked, what do you say to being my boyfriend?”

Niall lets out one of his sunshine laughs at that, and all Harry can think about as he giggles along is that he doesn’t even need to turn the lights on in the classroom because Niall’s already illuminated it with his booming, 100-watt laugh. “Of course,” Niall replies, and Harry has to pull him in for one last kiss before he lets him go to his own classroom when the bell finally rings.

And as Harry’s next section of students start filtering in, Harry stands at the front of the classroom so he can easily look through the door windows, angling himself so he has a perfect view of Niall scribbling something on his whiteboard, and all he can think about is how completely content he feels with the way everything’s played out so far.

He has to say, moving to London and taking the position at Kingsbury was probably the best decisions of his life.

*

He lied.

Asking Niall to move in with him was the best decision of his life. Because not a morning goes by where their legs aren’t tangled together, the heat of their bodies merging to form a barrier between their little bit of happiness and the rest of the world.

Harry may be really in love with the idea of love, but he thinks he loves Niall a little more.

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 1d autumn fic exchange.
> 
> please leave your thoughts in the comments. i'd love to hear what you think :)
> 
> follow me on tumblr: www.nightingiall.tumblr.com


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